


little sacrifices

by valety



Category: Uncommon Time (Video Game)
Genre: Other, POV Second Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Aubrey is willing to give up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	little sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for ending 4!!! also, warnings for suicidal ideation, codependency, and extremely mild implied sexual content

Your comfort is the first to go, of course.

With your gift for water magic, you have a natural affinity for ice. Because of this, you can endure lower temperatures than most. Not exceptionally lower, but enough. Even when you finally begin to reach your limit, you can still use your powers to keep the ice and snow at bay. But your magic is not absolute, and keeping yourself warm requires greater concentration than you can easily sustain, meaning that you gradually begin to feel the chill despite your best efforts.

 _I've always loved winter the best out of all the seasons,_ Alto told you once. _It's numbed my pain for me, and I've always felt most at peace looking at the ice and snow._

Her winter is certainly beautiful, but it doesn't numb _your_ pain. Still, you know that you can bear it. The cold serves a greater purpose, after all, and when you reflect upon that purpose, the now-barren landscape seems almost as beautiful as that first jewel-like snowfall had.

The two of you watch from a distance as winter gradually devours the world. If a little discomfort is the price you have to pay to finally see things end, then you will pay it gladly, until the time comes at last for you to go to sleep as well.

"For you, it will be painless," Alto promises between hot, breathless kisses, the only fire left in this endless December.

You consider telling her that you don't really mind the pain, not if she's the one bestowing it, but you can't speak; you can only gasp and cling. She's the only warmth you need, you think, and there is something desperate in the way you press against her in that moment.

The stars are the next to go.

In the beginning, you and Alto often went up to the roof to watch her symphony unfold. You would stand together late into the night, watching as she ushered in the winter with a steady hand, until finally the stars were gleaming overhead. Whenever the stars appeared, you would point out all the constellations as Alto smiled at you indulgently. You know she must have memorized them long ago, but she always listened just as eagerly as she had the first time. For that, you love her even more.

Stargazing with Alto always made you feel as though you two were your own constellation, far above the useless world below, with everything else in the universe too far away from you to matter. As Harmonia gradually began to disappear, you would often turn your gaze up to the stars, wondering about your own place among them. Wondering if you could somehow become a constellation for real.

But as the cold continues to encroach upon the land, the sky gradually turns grey. Clouds move in and don't retreat, bringing with them snow and hail and bitter wind. Although you can still make out the occasional pinprick of light, it's as though the stars themselves have abandoned you as well.

"Let them go," Alto tells you. "Let them all go. None of it matters anymore. Everything will end soon enough, including you and me."

There's something freeing about that thought. Nothing you can do at this point will change anything. The fall of humanity was always inevitable; it's merely been hastened, and you're incredibly lucky to be here to see it. There's no time for regret, and so you eagerly return Alto's smile and lean into her kisses.

It's your voice that leaves you next.

That's the one that catches you the most off-guard. Somehow, despite your willingness to leave everything behind, it never once occurred to you that you could lose yourself.

There's so very little that makes you _you._ You've known for quite some time that you're a half-person, composed almost entirely of the fragments of those you cling to—a medley of other songs, with nothing of yourself. But your voice, at least, has always belonged to you and you alone. You may have received musical training from others, but nobody could give or take away your ability to sing.

At least, you thought so.

But as the air grows colder, it gradually becomes painful even to speak. Your throat grows numb, your voice grows hoarse, and despite your best attempts at keeping warm—a scarf, a warm drink—it still _changes._ Your once almost-perfect soprano cracks until even the simplest tune becomes painful to carry, and as it becomes more and more difficult to sing in the cold air, you begin to lose your grasp on your magic, until you can no longer cast even ripples in a bowl of water.

You've struggled with the cold before. Every singer has. But in the past, there's always been a promise of future warmth and healing. There's no warmth to look forward to now.

"It doesn't matter. Your voice is still beautiful," Alto tells you when you come to her with your worthless throat and the news that you may not be able to perform duets with her much longer. Her blue eyes are colder than her winter sometimes, but her smile is still bright. She kisses your frozen tears, and though you're shivering, she is warm and kind.

(Though your voice is ruined, maybe you can still sing for her. If she likes it, you mean.)

In the end, even if what little of yourself that somehow still remains winds up disappearing, Alto is still with you. _You're_ still with _her._ That's all that matters.

Everything else has hurt you. Everything else has left you. Everything else is worthless. End it all and be at peace at last. 

The day will eventually come where you go to sleep as well, a sleep from which you truly never shall awaken from, but for the privilege of doing so with Alto, you would sacrifice far more than simply being Aubrey Spica.

As you lay shivering beside her, feeling her arms slide around you as her feverish lips brush against your frigid skin, you repeat to yourself, over and over again, _let them go. Let them all go._

"I love you," you say, and Alto smiles and says, "I love you too," and you are so, so happy.


End file.
